


Nemean Tiger

by prosecutorpumpkin



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate death, Gen, Stageplay Version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosecutorpumpkin/pseuds/prosecutorpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vignette focusing on Mondo's last thoughts while using the stageplay's version of his execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nemean Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a play on words with regards to the Nemean Lion of legend--a beast that could only be skinned with its own claws.

He was falling.

The headlights that had missed him long ago were now rounding the corner once more, staring him down, barreling towards him. Lights that were dual colored—the left, bright, blinding white, the right a deep, bloody red—forced his eyes to open from their dazed half-lidded trance. The death he had escaped had come to reap him once more. And this time, there was no escape for Mondo Oowada.

Upupu. Upupu. That steady, bullet-sharp laugh kept erupting from that goddamned bear, splitting his mind in two. The gavel had already slammed; the biker knew good and damn well what was coming next.

There was nothing but a strained, suffocating, sticky silence and black and white bear laughing.

What…was happening?

Ishimaru…Ishimaru was…crying…but there was something else. The bear wasn’t talking to Mondo anymore—instead, that sadistic taunting had turned upon his brother-in-arms. What was he saying? Mondo struggled to clear the buzzing from his ears, unclog the shame that he stuffed him into silence, but it was so hard to hear—so hard—

Finally, he caught a snatch.

“Voted.”

“Yourself.”

Like a roused beast, a tuneless roar of pain tore loose from Mondo’s throat, violet eyes straining as far open as they dared to go, sweat pouring from him as if trying to drown him in his guilt, tendons straining as he gripped the podium so hard he felt it might give under him.

“KYOUDAI—!”

The white-clad hall monitor half-turned, his body stiff, eyes wide, red, teary. He could only mouth an apology, and yet Ishimaru seemed strangely calm. Monokuma had told everyone that casting a wrong vote would leave the voter dead…and yet that didn’t faze Ishimaru. He whose sense of justice was so strong that not even death could tempt him away from standing by his brother, his best friend, was accepting this even though he knew Mondo had killed.

“Kyoudai…” Ishimaru’s voice finally bloomed, filling the room with a warmth that could only come from someone so fiery and passionate as him. It shook, but it did not break. “I’m—“

What was he? 

Mondo would never know.

In that moment, spears launched from the ground, grinding their way through the prefect’s body, that pure white gakuran blossoming with roses. 

Why…why had Ishimaru died first?! Why did he die at all?! Mondo wanted to leap across and tear out each pole, patch up the holes with his own flesh, to throw himself at the mastermind, whoever the fuck they were, and tear them apart. Why…why do this? For what? What purpose

Red, red, red…all Mondo could see now was that dark, draining red. It sucked him in. Through flesh, muscle, bone, vein, artery—the body ripped to shreds, bits of matter sticking on the glistening and slick points of the weapons as they protruded from Ishimaru’s back. Ishimaru’s eyes remained wide, tears falling freely, but he kept his feet against the ground, against all odds. His body shook and shuddered as he hung from his nest, but he clenched his fists and refused to fall. Blood continued to run down, pooling around him, cooling into wet, sticky puddles. 

Soon, too soon, his eyes began to close…and his body folded inward. Even the way he fell seemed disciplined—as quiet as one could be with so much metal shoved through them,crumpling into a pile. Cold. Dead.

Again, a scream burst from Mondo’s throat. This was despair. Absolute, uncaring, unfeeling despair. It enveloped him from the inside out, its cold tendrils slimy and slinking around, dragging him into his darkest fears and insecurities. He had killed again! AGAIN! HOW FUCKING WEAK DID HE HAVE TO BE TO KILL SOMEONE AGAIN?!

Weak…weak…WEAK…WEAK!!

MONDO OOWADA WAS FUCKING WEAK!

A shriek as he finally found words, spitting, wheezing, every bone in his body protesting his very existence.

“DO IT ALREADY! YOU STUPID FUCKIN’ BEAR, JUST KILL ME! WHY ARE YOU WAITIN’?!”

Upupu. Upupu.

A bullet-like laugh.

Time slowed to molasses. This was senseless. It was almost an epiphany, succumbing to the knowledge that this was all for nothing. His entire life was for nothing. Everything he had done…the few things he had accomplished…they would fall and wither with him here. Singlehandedly, he had caused the downfall of all he had ever taken comfort in. Accepting that almost freed him from his pain. Despair. Just give into despair…losing hope was almost hopeful in and of itself.

Mondo Oowada was weak. That’s why he had to die.

The anger faded from his eyes…and as soon as it did, the spears pierced him.

The last thing to enter his mind as his consciousness slipped away into the dark was a sudden realization. Recognition.

Him…Ishimaru…his classmates…

Was this really their first time meeting?


End file.
